


Born to be Alive

by cognomen, MayGlenn



Series: Greatest Hits of the Seventies [9]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Big Brothers, Camping, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Light Bondage, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: “I hope you’re less rusty at fishing than I am. I haven’t been since I lived on the other coast,” Starsky admits, when they’re settled back in and driving and everybody has donuts to tide them over. “I hope we catch something tasty.”“Yep, all those years as a sea scout have prepared me for this,” Hutch says, waving a hand at Starsky’s donuts, though when it looks like Starsky will actually eat them all, he takes one, to save him. “It’s trout season, so we should have plenty of luck. And with the modern conveniences we have today, why, it hardly feels like you’re camping at all!”“You sound like a commercial, Hutch,” Kiko laughs, and Pete joins in, so Hutch proceeds to lecture them in a booming voice about Fun Facts of the Outdoors (most of which are true) until they fall to pieces laughing.





	1. Chapter 1

“Eat up, eat up,” Hutch says cheerfully, filling plates for Starsky and Pete high with scrambled eggs and turkey bacon. The scrambled tofu he saved for himself and Kiko—no use wasting it on Pete and Starsky, who turned up their noses at it—Hutch was proud that the young man took after his Big Brother in wanting to eat healthy (when he was at Hutch’s house, anyway) (Hutch, too, could hardly say no to Ms. Ramos’ cooking when they visited, no matter how unhealthy he deemed it). “We’ll need our strength today!” 

Starsky and he were taking “the kids” camping, mostly to give Ms. Ramos time and space to get some work done, and Hutch had been excited about it all week. His scout skills would really come in handy, and he couldn’t wait to teach Kiko and Pete all about the great outdoors—hiking, fishing, campfire cooking, pitching a tent, and, of course, singing and telling ghost stories at night. 

“Is this guy serious?” Pete leans in to ask Starsky, as she eyes her turkey bacon suspiciously.

“Sadly, yes,” Starsky agrees, chewing his bacon, and then raiding Hutch’s fridge for hot sauce for his eggs, which both Kiko and Pete join him in adding. Starsky gives Hutch a ‘you’re outnumbered sorry’ shrug when Hutch looks like he’s about to protest.  

“Everybody’s got a swimsuit, right?” Starsky reminds. “We got a great spot by the lake. I can’t wait to get in the water.”

“I don’t like swimming,” Kiko says, probably by way of solidarity with Pete, who seems uncomfortable with the notion, and Starsky, quickly understanding the layout of the problem, switches track.

“Alright, well, we can sit on the dock and put our feet in,” Starsky says. “Everybody knows that makes the fish bite better.”

“Better not let them bite your toes,” Hutch says, sitting down to breakfast after refilling his and Starsky’s coffees, and Pete’s and Kiko’s glasses of milk. “But I wouldn’t worry, the fish and bugs tend to bite Starsky and leave the rest of us alone. I tell him it’s all the junk food he eats. The mosquitos think he’s sweet.” 

“Well, I think he’s sweet, too,” Pete says, grinning across the table at Starsky with a prominent milk moustache. 

“Funny how being all natural makes you  _ unnaturally _ repellent to bugs,” Starsky agrees, cleaning his plate off. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let Hutch do all the campfire cooking. I got a bag of tricks.”

He’d tried to convince Hutch that they should rent or borrow a camper, considering they had two kids to be responsible for, but Hutch had insisted that the only proper way to camp was in tents. (He hadn’t appreciated Starsky’s immediate following pun about ‘intense’...) 

Starsky was okay with that, and he’d dutifully packed up his gear into the back of Hutch’s car. If he allows anything about Hutch’s car, it’s that the trunk is bigger. Besides, if he scrapes the undercarriage out on a branch or something getting them up to the campground, maybe he’ll finally take that green monstrosity out back and shoot it.

“Anyway, what’s camping without s’mores or beef jerky?” Starsky says. “Hiking and fishing and eating twigs and berries is all good enough, but at the end of the day you should indulge. Besides, it makes ghost stories better.”

Hutch rolls his eyes. 

“We’re not going to eat twigs and berries,” he says, but he has lost his younger audience.  

After breakfast they wash the dishes, like a happy little family, and finish packing. Kiko fills big jugs with drinking water, Pete is sent back to the Ramos’ house for more than one change of underwear, and Hutch makes Starsky take the car to get air in the tires while he makes sandwiches. By the time Starsky returns, they are packing food into a cooler, with some beers (“Are those for us?” Pete asks cheekily) and sodas and eggs and lots of fruit and vegetables (and one jug of Hutch’s smoothie, pre-made). There’s a separate bag with bread, popcorn for popping on the fire, and Starsky’s junk food. They’ve brought enough food for four adults for a week, but with catching fish it just might feed two growing preteens satisfactorily for a few days. 

It’s a bit of a hassle getting all the bags in with the cooler and water, but soon they’re on their way, Starsky driving and Hutch leading them in driving songs and license plate games from his childhood road trips. 

“Hutch,” Starsky says, when they stop for gas. “I hate your car.”

He lets it go at that for today, because he’s already feeling his spirits lift as they get out into the country. California’s got lots of great places to camp, and it’s early enough in the year that they won’t cook out there in Joshua Tree.

Perching his sunglasses up on top of his head, Starsky considers the snacks on offer at the gas station when he sees the two kids in conference about what they want, and finally picks up a couple sodas and three packages of chocolate donuts for them to share, offering half his package to Hutch.

“I hope you’re less rusty at fishing than I am. I haven’t been since I lived on the other coast,” Starsky admits, when they’re settled back in and driving and everybody has donuts to tide them over. “I hope we catch something tasty.”

“Yep, all those years as a sea scout have prepared me for this,” Hutch says, waving a hand at Starsky’s donuts, though when it looks like Starsky will actually eat them all, he takes one, to save him. “It’s trout season, so we should have plenty of luck. And with the modern conveniences we have today, why, it hardly feels like you’re camping at all!” 

“You sound like a commercial, Hutch,” Kiko laughs, and Pete joins in, so Hutch proceeds to lecture them in a booming voice about Fun Facts of the Outdoors (most of which are true) until they fall to pieces laughing. 

Starsky gets them up to the campground and manages to keep Hutch’s car in one piece more or less, except for the back bumper which requires a fresh round of duct tape upon arrival. Starsky gives this task wordlessly to Pete, who seems to enjoy the sound that pulling the tape off the roll makes and attacks the task with enthusiasm.

“Well, I wasn’t ever a scout, but let’s see if I can’t remember how to put up a tent,” Starsky says. “Kiko, you guys better learn from Hutch. I might have to join you in a minute.” 

As far as tent construction goes, Hutch is better, and he helps Kiko and Pete wrestle with their kid-sized tents, following all instructions to the letter. Both kids are glad to have a space of their own, and begin laying out their possessions inside their tents. Pete even sits in hers for a bit, while Hutch goes to help Starsky. 

“You know, all these tree roots are going to stab you in the back all night,” Hutch says, hammering down a stake. “You should pitch over in the meadow closer to us.”

“I like the shade,” Starsky says. “And, I brought an air mattress. It’s like sleeping on a cloud, but on the ground outside. Besides, that’s all low ground by the lakeside. You should pitch your tent up higher.”

Hutch waves a hand. “We’re only in trouble if it rains, and it’s supposed to be sunny all week.” 

They get the tent guylines pulled tight and Starsky has a tent at last. “Well, that’s perfectly respectable, thank you very much, scout master.”

Hutch gives Starsky a playful salute, and wants to kiss him, but holds back in case Pete or Kiko start asking questions. “You’re welcome. You and your air mattress!” 

He laughs and begins setting up a central camp between all their tents, half in the shade of Starsky’s tree, where they’ll light their fire. “Okay, who’s hungry for lunch? We’ll need to go gather some firewood, and fish a little bit later in the day: they won’t be biting much now. Everyone got their hiking shoes on? I’ve got sunblock and bug spray to put on after we eat.” 

Starsky spends lunch with the footpump blowing up his mattress, which seems like a lot of effort, but when it’s in place in his tent, the roots really don’t matter at all. 

“How come we don’t get one?” Pete asks, now looking at her own tent and sleeping bag arrangement. 

“Next time,” Starsky promises. “But everybody should have the experience of sleeping on the ground in a sleeping bag at least once. You know, while they’re young.”

The kids don’t seem to fully buy this, but they let it go in favor of Starsky teaching them to skip rocks on the lake while they eat peanut butter sandwiches and Hutch fusses about not getting sunburned. While they gear up for a hike, Starsky declines.

“Listen, camping and nature are best appreciated from a hammock,” he says, pulling a rope tight and putting himself into the aforementioned hammock, relaxing peacefully with a dime novel. “I bet I see just as many birds right here.”

“You’re on!” Pete says, slapping Starsky’s outstretched hand instead of shaking it, and ready To See All the Birds. In this at least the kids agree with Hutch, that walking around looking for animals and sticks seems like way more fun than  _ sleeping _ . 

Hutch makes sure each person carries a small backpack, with a notebook, pencil, snack, water, and a coat. 

“You should always be prepared for anything,” Hutch tells them, prompting Pete to run back to her her baseball and glove, and Kiko to bring along another snack. “And one more thing.” 

Hutch draws two small items out of his bag and closes his hand around each one, and then puts his hand behind his back. “Okay, who wants which hand?” 

“Left!” Pete shouts promptly, and Kiko just shrugs, laughing faintly. 

Hutch reveals his hand: two Swiss Army knives, one red and one blue. 

“Now, you need to be very careful with these. They’re tools, not toys, and you need to treat them with respect...” Hutch explains, but both kids squeal as they snatch up the gifts and run off promptly to dull their knives and lose the tweezers. Hutch laughs, and shrugs at Starsky. “Well.” 

“I think my first army knife wound up in a lake,” Starsky says, with a shrug. “But that was a nice gesture.”

After all, he knows he wasn’t any different as a kid, and he’d have bet even serious, studious Hutch was just as much a kid when it mattered most. Dutifully, Starsky keeps a little notebook at his side and a pencil at his ear to record any birds he sees. He could actually get to like this, he thinks, utterly relaxed and gently rocking in the air as he reads.


	2. Chapter 2

“What kind of bird is that?” Pete demands, every time she happens to catch sight of one. 

“That’s a crow again,” Kiko tells her, laughing. “I think it has to be different birds!”

“He didn’t say that, he just said more birds,” Pete says, scribbling furiously on her pad. 

“I bet we’d see even more if we climbed up one of these trees,” Kiko says, lowering his voice. Of course, he just wants to climb a tree. 

They let Hutch continue up the trail, talking at length about the things you’d need for survival, and they both leave their backpacks down at the bottom of the tree before they start to climb up.

“Oh, the view’s really nice up here,” Pete says, forgetting about the birds.

“Your view, maybe,” Kiko says, shifting. “I think  _ I _ found a beehive. Ouch!”

It’s an accident that he kicks the hive down onto the ground right as Hutch realizes the kids are missing and starts to come back. 

What Starsky expect to see, after a few hours, is Hutch and the kids coming back with firewood and a list of birds. 

What he actually sees, after a bare half hour, is Hutch screaming bloody murder as he runs back to the lake, chased by a veritable swarm of bees. 

“Starsk, take cover!” he shouts, launching himself into the water, fully clothed. 

“Hutch— _ what _ ?” Starsky yelps, and when he realizes what’s happening he upends himself out of the hammock, dime novel and notepad flying as he bolts not away from the bees, but toward the lake. 

“Kids, get in your tents!” he calls to Kiko and Pete, as the two look like they’d never seen anything like this (and they probably hadn’t). They do, zipping up against any stray bees, but the majority of them seemed to be after Hutch, and Starsky wades into the lake to go after his partner, to help him get past the swarm without getting stung to death.

They make it fully clear almost ten minutes later, after having swum nearly halfway across the lake until the bees give up. “Hutch, buddy, are you alright?”

“You dummy, I thought you were allergic?” Hutch pants, grabbing Starsky’s arms in concern. “Or is that just what you say to get out of gardening?”

“Hutch, I live in an apartment for a reason.” They haul each other, soaking, out of the water, Starsky’s eyes alert to any sign of returning bees, but the swarm seems to have moved off. 

“Boy, you really got right into nature, huh?” Starsky says, spitting water and catching his breath, dripping on the shore of the lake. 

Hutch is sporting a few stings, though most of the stingers came out in the lake. Still, “Ouch, ow. Are you okay? Kiko, Pete, you guys okay?”

Standing wide-eyed on the shore, the kids nod, though Pete is clearly trying to hold back a smile at how silly they look.

“I’m sorry Mister Hutchinson,” Kiko says. “I didn’t know there was a beehive when I climbed the tree.”

“Aha,” Hutch says, as the fact that Kiko only calls him “Mister Hutchinson” when he thinks he’s in trouble fills in what happened. 

“Are you okay? Did you get stung a hundred thousand times?” Pete asks, worried in spite of the grin. 

“Maybe not a hundred thousand,” Hutch says, taking off his shirt to wring it out, “but enough that I’ll ask you to be more careful. And not just for me: those bees are going to have to build an entirely new home before winter.” 

This was perhaps one lesson in being responsible for the environment too far, as Pete and Kiko now looked horrified. 

“We—we’ll build them one!” Pete promises. “I don’t want the bees to die!” 

Hutch decides not to tell her what happened to the ten or so bees that stung him. 

“Ahh—yeah, okay,” Hutch says hastily, “well, why don’t you go climb a tree and start building something for them to live in, while we get changed?” 

He looks at Starsky for support.  

“Climb a  _ different _ tree,” Starsky elaborates. “Watch out for bees and bird’s nests, huh?”

“Right,” Hutch echoes, nodding and pointing at Starsky. 

“We will!” Pete promises. “I bet we can use our knives to help.”

As the kids run off, Hutch laughs. “You know, together we almost make a fully-functional parent.”

“Too bad most kids need about six functional parents to keep up. Hutch, let me get some first aid on those stings, huh? Where’d they get you,” Starsky says, sympathetically. He guides Hutch to sit down on the trunk of his car, and digs out the first aid kit—recently restocked and revisited, in preparation for the trip. “Guess your preparedness really comes in handy, huh? Let me see about getting any stingers out.” 

“Yeah, you're gonna love where several of them ended up,” Hutch groans as he strips his pants off, taking, probably, a few of the stingers with the wet clothes. “ _ Most _ of them are on my back. You should get out of those clothes, too, it isn't that warm out here.”

“I’ll change in a minute,” Starsky promises, looking over the red welts. Most of the stingers seem to have already come out, but there’s one on Hutch’s shoulder that he pulls, and one right above the waitstband of his underwear that Starsky pulls with his own wince. “Well, these aren’t as bad as they could be.”

“Hang on,” Hutch says, glancing around a little nervously as he lowers his briefs.

Starsky cleans each mark with a little soap and water, applies a little witch hazel, and then pops the internal component of an ice pack. Giving Hutch’s leg a pat in solidarity, Starsky hands over the ice pack. “Hold this on whichever one hurts the most. I’ll go get our towels.”

Hopefully it won’t make Hutch miserable all night, sleeping on all those stings. Starsky  _ almost _ feels bad enough to offer Hutch his air mattress, but figures Hutch wouldn’t accept as a matter of pride, anyway. He brings his partner a fluffy towel from home, and a set of dry clothes, having changed into his own swim trunks. 

If that view doesn’t cure him, nothing will, Hutch thinks with a laugh, when Starsky returns wearing nothing but red shorts and body hair. The stings do still smart, however, and Hutch is breathing through his nose and wondering how he’s going to wear clothes for the next few hours. 

“My ma always said the best way to get the sting out was to lick an aspirin and stick it on the red spot,” Starsky says, with a shrug. 

“Your ma is crazy, but usually right,” Hutch says, unaware that he’s grimacing. He’s been stung before without much concern, but this time the number of stings feel cumulative. “Maybe the hike is out for today. Or at least the next hour. Give me a couple aspirin.” 

These he takes orally, and laughs. “Maybe I should just go sit in the lake til the sting wears off. Think you could keep Pete and Kiko out of trouble?” 

“You couldn’t do it,” Starsky reminds, grinning. “But I’ll take a crack at it. The cold water’ll definitely help though. Don’t worry, you’ll be right as rain in a half an hour.”

Starsky produces Hutch’s swim trunks. “Let’s see if I remember how fishing goes.”

He calls the kids back down from their efforts in the tree, after a glance at their ‘replacement beehive’. “Hey, that’s actually pretty inventive. Leave a little honey in there as a housewarming gift, and maybe you can sell them on the real estate.”

“That’s a good idea!” Pete says, and Starsky wordlessly produces a little package from his pocket to hand up to Kiko, who carries it up to her.

She opens the package and sets it in the makeshift hive, and then both the kids climb down from the tree, confident the bees will have a good winter. Starsky is, too. They were pretty good at building, bees.

“So, Hutch is going to soak in the lake for a while, and I thought we could all work on catching some dinner,” Starsky offers. “Let’s see what we can catch, huh?” 

Hutch waves at where they set up, but doesn’t swim over, hoping, if anything, to scare the fish in their direction. Once the immediate stinging stops, he takes the opportunity to swim some laps. 

But the kids are far too loud, of course, and can’t keep still, so they don’t get any fish, and soon decide this is boring. 

After about twenty minutes. 

“Alright, alright, I figured the worms would hold you for at least half an hour,” Starsky says, shaking his head, and displaying a wriggling night-crawler as he baits his hook and they both stick their tongues out in displeasure. “Why don’t you guys start getting some firewood together so we can cook it if I catch anything?” 

Excited by the prospect of more running around in the woods, they take off, leaving Starsky at last with a little quiet, a little calm. The evening’s starting to wear on, and look a little overcast. It’ll be good for fishing, provided it doesn’t actually rain. 

He casts his line out, reeling it slowly back toward him, and feels a genuine surge of excitement when his bobber disappears. “Hey, Hutch! I got something!”

Of course he’s sure his partner will swim up and tell him it’s probably an old boot, but he can feel some fight on the other end of the line. Starsky sets the hook (he remembers this from when he was a kid), and starts reeling in the fish. 

Hutch swims closer in time to see a big fat trout jump out of the water, and he laughs as he helps Starksy guide it in. They're so jubilant about the fish that he considers his bee stings cured and wants to try his own hand at fishing.

“Way to go, Starsk! Oh that's a fat one!” Hutch cries, sloshing to shore and getting a bucket to keep it fresh for dinner—though, truly, they could almost start cooking, if they had more than one fish and some sizeable firewood. 

“Yeah, that’s a lucky catch,” Starsky agrees, handing over the fishing rod and scooting closer to Hutch, sitting hip to hip as Hutch casts out his line, and for a few minutes, anyway, they have some peace and quiet. “You know, I’m glad we’re gonna get a couple extra days out here in the wilderness after the kids go home to school.”

“What will we do to pass the time?” Hutch wonders, bumping his forehead against Starsky’s as they sit with their feet in the water. 

“I got a couple ideas that aren’t bird watching,” Starsky answers, watching the bobber on the water.


	3. Chapter 3

Hutch doesn't catch anything before Pete and Kiko return, so he hands the rod back to Starsky to come investigate their findings. 

“I found a feather!” Pete shouts triumphantly, showing Hutch, and opening up her notebook to what have to be a hundred hash-marks. “And a lot more birds. You can tell Starsky to give it up!”

She's a little too old to humor like this, so Hutch matches Kiko's skeptical look until she cracks.

“Well, okay, but I mean the feather has to count for something, right?”

“Can you tell us what bird it’s from?” Kiko asks, earnestly, and Pete holds the feather up for Hutch to examine.

On the lake, the bobber disappears again. “Hey! I think I got another one!”

Hutch glares at Starsky, this time, but can’t do much about it since he gave the pole up. 

Starsky hauls another fish out of the lake, checking the size to make sure it’s good to catch, and then adds it to the bucket, grinning. The two kids peer into it at the two fish.

“...are we going to eat them?”

“But they’re still alive!”

“Starsky’ll show you how to kill them humanely,” Hutch says, since they’re Starsky’s fish, after all. “And gut and debone them. So who wants to help with the gross job, and who wants to help with starting a fire?” 

Grossness seems to excite Pete, so Kiko is glad to help Hutch with the fire: first, with gathering more wood. 

Starsky still winds up doing most of the work of preparing and gutting the fish. He is careful to dispose of the offal back into the water, where it can feed other fish and won’t attract any bears or other wildlife. By the time he’s all done and has his hands washed and the fish nicely seasoned and wrapped up in foil packages to cook, Hutch and Kiko have the fire going. 

“Two fresh fish, delivered,” Starsky announces, passing the foil packets to Hutch. “If only we had some potatoes, huh?”

Hutch scoffs, and leans into the car to grab a paper bag from under the seat. “Listen to this guy. He thinks I wouldn’t bring potatoes.” 

Pete and Kiko cheer, and they prep the potatoes in foil to tuck into the coals. Campfire cooking is tricky, and after Hutch nearly loses one of the fish, Starsky gets involved, and they bicker through how it should be done before Hutch goes off in a huff to add some vegetables to their meal. 

“Ain’t potatoes a vegetable?” Pete asks, following him closely. 

“Well, yes,” Hutch says. “But not a very healthy one. How about some fire-roasted broccoli, huh?” 

“Sure, I guess.” She giggles. “You’re always talking about healthy! What are you gonna do living forever after me and Kiko and Starsky are gone?” 

Hutch knows (thinks?) she didn’t mean anything by it, but he blushes a little. “Well, I’d  _ like  _ for him—for all of you—to eat healthy and live forever with me.” 

Pete considers this. “Maybe I’ll go halfway-healthy. Since you’re about thirty years older than me, that’ll put us about even!” 

“I’m not  _ thirty  _ years older than you—” Hutch tries, but she’s run off again, perhaps spotting another bird. 

Starsky gives Hutch a little nudge. “Flip the fish again, so they don’t stick.”

“Hey, I think I felt a raindrop,” Kiko says, looking up toward the sky.

“I hope you didn’t,” Starsky says, looking up too. The sky is getting pretty dark and overcast, but they can probably finish their dinner before it really lets go. 

“Oh, of course,” Hutch grumbles, wandering off to the car. “It’s been hot and dry for weeks and now it starts raining?” 

“I think we better get our s’mores going at the same time,” Starsky says, passing out long forks for the marshmallows. “I don’t know how long the weather will hold out.”

“Can we eat dessert first?” Pete suggests. “I mean, it’s better if it starts raining that we eat the fish in the wet….”

“Nice try, but I came prepared,” Hutch said, tossing each of them the corner of a tarp and a pole. “Everyone, grab an end!” 

Pete and Kiko’s corners end up being a little shorter than the other two, but there’s enough space to move around in, and a little vent in the top allows the smoke to get out, though when it does start raining the fire hisses occasionally from raindrops. 

They supplement fish with hot dogs, potatoes, and roasted broccoli, which even Starsky enjoys, and are ready with the marshmallows while Hutch pulls out his guitar. 

Now this, Starsky could enjoy. He’s full, and even though it’s raining, it’s only pattering softly on the tarp for now, and Hutch actually is pretty good at playing guitar. It only takes a brief instruction for a good chorus of a few old camping standards, and then Pete, full of food and s’mores and excited to read a couple of the comic books she’d brought, begs an early ‘goodnight’ to sneak into Kiko’s tent and read comic books until they both get too tired. 

Starsky helps Hutch bank down the campfire to only coals. “Hey, we’re doing okay at this. The kids aren’t walking all over us, and we actually caught some fish. That’s better than I expected.”

“You caught some fish,” Hutch reminds, plinking softly away at his guitar, and then with more chagrin, “ _ I _ got stung by bees.” 

“I’m pretty sure you mostly caught the second one,” Starsky says, generously, and not without pity. “Are the stings feeling any better? I’d say that meal was worth at least one, anyway.”

Hutch chuckles, watching the firelight play over Starsky’s body—knees and hands are what mostly show up, and his bright eyes reflecting the light back. “Yeah. It was worth it.” 

Then Starsky leans back, bare feet stretched toward the fire, and watching the flashlight moving behind the tent walls as Pete and Kiko giggle over comic books like a real brother and sister. 

“Hey, I gotta say, good job with Kiko, buddy,” Starsky grins at him. 

Hutch smiles. “Good job yourself. We’re in this together, partner.” 

“Much as I hate to say it, I think I’m going to turn in,” Starsky says, picking himself up with a groan. “Those kids are gonna be up with the first light of dawn and I think the air mattress is calling my name.”

He pats Hutch on the shoulder on his way by, and then pauses to kiss the top of his head. “Have a good night.”

“You, too, partner,” Hutch hums, almost sing-songy, and continues playing his guitar until he’s sure the fire is at a safe level. Then he puts his guitar away in the car, and mixes some steel cut oats with pearled barley and coconut milk to soak overnight so it’ll cook faster in the morning, helps a sleepy Pete find her tent and get ready for bed, tells Kiko lights out, and heads to his tent. 

He glances a little wistfully at Starsky’s tent, a little disappointed to not be spending the night with him, but they do sleep alone, sometimes, if nothing else than because they each pay rent and have neighbors—and sometimes they want to sleep with girls, so really, the times that Hutch goes to bed alone are rare enough that the idea of stretching out in his own space and farting when he wants to actually sounds great. 

The first slosh when he gets near his tent is a bad sign, and though the thing is water resistant, it, apparently, isn’t waterproof when you pitch it on springy, flat grass that turns out to be a bog when it rains. Cursing, Hutch is almost embarrassed enough to just suffer. He doesn’t hear either of the kids having problems, so he’s glad it’s just him. 

You know, the Sea Scout, who ought to know better. 

But everything is  _ soaked _ , and he wrings out and lays out what can be salvaged under the tarp around the coals, still muttering and cursing to himself. He would just toss his sleeping bag out here by the fire—if that weren’t already drenched, too. 

Sighing, Hutch steps up to Starsky’s tent, and whispers. “Starsk?” 

“Huh?” Starsky wonders, looking up from his very comfortable looking pile of sleeping bag and blankets. He’s still clearly half asleep, because it takes him a moment to orient and before that he asks. “Did we get a call? Gotta go?”

Then he remembers they’re in the middle of nowhere, camping at a lake, and the soft sound of rain overhead on his tent reminds him of where they are. He puts it together pretty quickly, when he looks up and sees Hutch’s pants are soaked at the bottom cuffs. 

“Your tent rained out?” 

“No, I just missed your company,” Hutch grumbles, already stepping inside when he asks, “Will you let me come mope in here or not?” 

Starsky chuckles and lifts one edge of the blanket in clear invitation. “You’re the one who has to come up with the excuse the kids won’t see through in the morning.”

“My sleeping bag will still be wet in the morning, it’ll be pretty obvious,” Hutch says, stripping his soaked pants and laying them out in some sort of position that they be mostly might dry by morning. “The ground I put it on was like a giant sponge. Stupid.” 

He slides in next to Starsky, keeping the touches between them chaste—he really is just looking for someplace dry to lay down—but the air mattress dips in the middle with their combined weight. Like Starsky’s waterbed, it folds and presses them together, back to back. 

“See? Soft as a cloud,” Starsky says, yawning, tired enough to go right back to sleep, curled up against Hutch and warm even as the rainy night gets cold around them. He’s glad he brought some extra blankets and a nice bulky sleeping bag, too. It’ll be an easy night, even with the crickets chirping. 


	4. Chapter 4

Hutch is the first to wake, invigorated by a good night’s sleep next to Starsky, even though the air mattress lost some of its air overnight. He kisses Starsky’s forehead and rolls out of bed and into his trousers that are only damp now. 

Outside, dawn is just breaking, and Hutch bundles up and enjoys the quiet while he heats the oatmeal and adds syrup, cinnamon, and raisins, and brews some tea for himself. 

Pete surprises him by crawling out of her tent first, blinking sleepily and shivering. 

“Aw, hey, you cold?” Hutch says, beckoning her over, offering her an arm and a body to snuggle up against. He’s not sure she’ll take it, maybe a little too old or a little too tomboyish, but the offer’s there. “I got a nice fire going here for you. You sleep okay?” 

She yawns. “The bottom of my tent was really cold, but I only noticed just before I woke up.”

Pete reaches back in to get a blanket, and huddles up next to Hutch after only a brief consideration of if it would be too vulnerable. But there are times when she misses her dad. She doesn’t  _ need _ to lean on anyone at all, but sometimes it’s nice to do so anyway. “Your tent is leaking.”

Hutch laughs, rubbing Pete's arm to help her warm up without coddling her, even if he wants nothing more than for her to stop feeling so old and act more like a kid. “Yeah, my tent had a crazy dream that it was a boat last night—almost floated away with me in it!” 

Pete is grinning, so Hutch continues, "And not a very good boat, either. It kept taking in water! I let it go have some adventures without me and slept in Starsky's tent instead. How do you like oatmeal?”

“I like it with brown sugar and cinnamon,” Pete says, still eying Hutch’s tent, before she gives a shrug and looks back toward the fire, getting comfortable. “Maybe we should have really brought a boat, then your tent wouldn’t have had to compensate.”

“Maybe the next trip will be a boat trip,” Hutch agrees, and shows Pete the oatmeal. “You ever tried it with syrup? You can pick out the raisins if you don't like ‘em.”

Starsky, finally roused by the promising smell of food, emerges from his tent with the percolator and a bag of coffee grounds. If Hutch was seeing to one part of breakfast, leave it to Starsky to see to the other half.

“Boy you weren’t kidding, you practically pitched it in a bog,” he says, sitting down on Hutch’s other side. “Mornin’ Pete. What was Spider-man up to last night, huh?”

“He stopped some robbers from knocking over a bank,” she says, proudly. “They were using a shrink gun to do it!”

“Boy, I’m glad Spider-man deals with all those shrink gun guys,” Starsky says, putting the percolator on the grate over the fire to heat up. 

Hutch's tea is gone, so the coffee smells good, and Starksy looks good, all rugged and full of life. 

“Starksy, your face looks funny!” Pete giggles. “There's something growing on it!”

“Yeah, it’s a beard,” Starsky reassures her. “Hutch’ll look the same in about three or four days. The wilderness makes it grow faster.”

“It doesn’t!” she giggles.

“Sure it does, how do you think all those lumberjacks get those huge beards?” Starsky offers, helping himself to some oatmeal and not even complaining about the raisins, which usually make him grouchy even on a good day. 

_ Kiko  _ appreciates the raisins, if no one else does, though he doesn’t appreciate mornings in general. Both the kids are slow, and Pete stays cuddly until she’s had her fill of oatmeal and the sun has come up to warm them. 

“Anyone want to fish? Now’s a good time,” Hutch suggests, and both the kids animate, and Hutch and Starsky can’t show them how to set bait fast enough, though then they’re happy to settle down on the edge of the lake and the morning—almost—returns to its former quiet. 

Starsky drinks coffee and watches them fish; he’d caught his two and considers his job well and truly done. It almost seems like things are turning around for Hutch, until he hauls in his third sunfish.

“Why are they covered in spikes?” Pete asks, as Hutch pokes himself trying to get the hook out of the fish’s mouth so he can throw it back.

“So things don’t eat it, I think,” Kiko suggests.

“Is that why we’re not going to eat these?”

“No, they don’t taste good,” Starsky says. “Well, maybe with enough butter…”

“Not even with enough butter,” Hutch laments, sure that he’s caught the same fish three times, and chucking it further out into the water this time, like it’ll help. 

At least Pete and Kiko catch a few small ones each, and some of them are big enough to keep, before Hutch suggests they try their hike again. 

“Only if Starsky comes with us,” Pete says, taking his hand and squeezing it. If Hutch didn’t know any better, he thinks she has something of a crush on his partner. If nothing else he appreciates her taste. 

“You think you can prove you saw more birds than me that way?” Starsky asks, digging out a pair of shoes that are more substantial than flipflops. He pulls on his sneakers, having to do so more or less one-handed due to Pete’s sudden clingy streak.

“No, I just know you’re the only one with candy bars!”

“Hey, did anyone ever tell you, you’re a real bright kid?” Starsky says, appreciating her enthusiasm for candy, anyway. “Alright, let’s go for a hike.”

They stop by the fallen beehive to find bees coming and going busily to and from it. 

“Looks like they're moving house nicely,” Hutch observes. “How many birds we got, Pete? Kiko, can you ID this plant?”

“It’s… not poison ivy,” Kiko says, remembering only the most basic, first, but then he goes to take a look at it, a low plant with little white flowers and creepers, and then he realizes. “Oh! I think it’s a strawberry.”

“Where?” Pete demands. 

“It’s not got any berries yet,” Kiko says.

“You can make tea out of the leaves,” Starsky remembers. “Or  _ Hutch _ tells me you can, anyway.”

“That’s right,” Hutch agrees, plucking a few leaves. “We can try it when we get back tonight. It’s really good—” he had been about to say ‘for you,’ but, remembering his audience, quits while he’s ahead: “Good. It’s really good. Kinda fruity, even though it’s just leaves.” 

Kiko looks interested, while Pete points up at the branches. “Hey! There’s another bird!” 

She throws down her bag in an effort to get her bird book out fast enough. 

“Well. It was brown. And small. Probably another Towhee.” 

Pete seems a little disappointed, but Hutch helps her repack her bag. “Don’t worry, we’ll see some different kinds. Unless maybe you’re like me and the sunfish? All towhees?” 

“Oh, no!” Pete laughs. “I at least want to see one crow!”  

“You see lots of crows in the city,” Starsky says. “And seagulls, right?”

“Yeah!” Pete says. “I forgot to mark down seagull.”

Starsky lets her have the tally, without pointing out that technically it’s supposed to be birds they saw  _ here. _ Instead, he follows dutifully, and points out a few songbirds as he sees them, for both kids to mark down.

“You guys gonna do cub scouts next year? You know Hutch was a sea scout,” Starsky teases, pointedly bringing up Hutch’s slightly more awkward past. “If you ever get him on a boat you gotta listen to everything he knows about knots…”

“What’s a sea scout?” Pete asks.

“It’s like a cub scout,” Starsky says. “Only you wear a little sailor outfit…”

“It’s a real thing!” Hutch squeaks, mainly because the talk of knots always makes him blush around Starsky. “There are a lot of lakes in Minnesota, so they teach you how to be a sailor. Next trip, we’ll take you guys boating out in the bay, how’d you like that?” 

“YEAH!” Pete and Kiko shouted together. 

“They’ll make me be in  _ girl  _ scouts,” Pete says sullenly, “so probably not.” 

“Hey, now,” Hutch says. “First of all, Girl Scouts of America is a great organization doing positive things in the world. And it’s way more than just baking cookies. You learn all the things cub scouts learn,  _ plus  _ baking cookies. Doesn’t that sound fun?” 

“Hey, can’t I join girl scouts?” Kiko asks and then winks and elbows Starsky, trying to appear grown-up: “Maybe meet some girls?” 

Hutch and Starsky share a look betting that Kiko is  _ actually  _ interested in the cookies. 

“You could always start your own scouts,” Starsky suggests. “You know, camping  _ and _ cookies. And little sailor outfits.”

Both Kiko and Pete make a face at the last suggestion, then giggle, apparently amused by the idea of Hutch in one, which is what Starsky intended. Just as quickly, they’re distracted by more plants, which Pete takes a few flowers from to press in her diary, and Kiko does his best to identify, and for a few moments, all is peaceful and normal, and while the kids enthuse, Starsky can sneak a hand-squeeze in with Hutch, just to communicate that he’s enjoying himself.

“Your bee stings feel better, Hutch?” Starsky asks. “I think your run of bad luck should be just about up, for now.”

Hutch dares to smile soapily at Starsky, whom he loves so completely in spite of his many irritating qualities that he's beginning to suspect he loves him actually more because of them. He squeezes Starsky’s hand in return. “I've got the good luck where it counts. I'm not worried.”


	5. Chapter 5

When the kids rush up to them with more birds in Pete's book and more plants in Kiko's, and fighting over who gets to record the squirrel they've just spotted, Hutch lets their hands go to help sort it out. “Well, we should maybe record a list of all the living things we've seen. Put the bees on there, and all the fish.”

Kiko sighs. “That's a long list. I'll just worry about the plants.”

That's kid-speak for ‘Let's keep going.’

“I think we’re almost halfway around the lake anyway,” Starsky says. “Just the home stretch left.”

“Can we go swimming in the lake later?” Pete asks, apparently over her earlier swimsuit concerns. 

“Sure, I think we’ve figured out fishing is a bust, so you might as well,” Starsky says, after a glance at Hutch. 

They wrap up the hike in more or less good order, with each of them having lots of sketches in their journals, and Starsky even manages to show them a couple of salamanders hiding under an old log, which pleases both of them. They spend the rest of the afternoon swimming and Starsky keeps his feet in the water and watches clouds in a way that he’d find idyllic. For fifteen minutes at least while Hutch plays guitar, he manages to keep from fidgeting, but eventually the bug works its way in and he rounds everyone up into a game of frisbee, half in and half out of the lake. 

It’s Kiko who begs for mercy, first. “I’m hungry!”

Hutch sets aside the guitar then, and shows them how to prepare fish, and hot dogs, to cook over the fire and to eat with the chips they brought along. There's soda for the kids, and beer for Hutch and Starsky, and after S’mores last night, the only way to go up from here is skillet brownies, which Hutch and Starsky argue over the composition of but eventually set down into the coals to cook.

“Those should be ready in about an hour. Why don't you show us your books, you two?” Hutch asks, checking his watch. “You think you'll have something neat to show your teachers on Monday?”

“Augh no, not Monday! I don't wanna go back to school!” Pete complains. 

“Why can't we stay here with you, Hutch?” Kiko asks. 

“Well, because you gotta show your teachers what you learned,” Hutch tries. “And school is important. Just ask Starsky, he skipped half of junior high, and look how he turned out.”

“That isn’t true, don’t tell them that,” Starsky says, laughing. “I didn’t skip it, I just had to repeat a grade. You don’t wanna do that, right?”

Both kids shake their heads, vigorously.

“Did you have bad grades?” Kiko asks, trying to figure out how an adult ever was anything but the person he knows. 

“No, but I got into a lot of trouble,” Starsky admits. “I wasn’t a good kid for a couple of years. Then I moved out here with my aunt and uncle, and I got a new start. Sometimes that’s all it takes, right?”

“Yeah!” Pete chimes in. 

“That's what I mean, he played hooky a lot,” Hutch teases. 

“Yeah, well, he's got the same job as you, and you went to college,” Kiko points out, and Hutch's mouth flaps until all three of them are laughing at him. 

“Smart kid,” Starsky says. “Hutch spent a little too much time playing lifeguard in the summer to do as well as he could in life, I think.”

“What’s that mean?” Pete demands.

“Uh,” Starsky says, having trapped himself in a not kid friendly corner. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“How about we sing some songs?” Hutch suggests, to change the subject, and first Kiko and then Pete want to be taught how to play guitar, so Hutch shows them a few chords before they get bored and want to sing, or read comic books, and whine for the brownies to be done.

They ends up having to eat the “brownies” with a spoon, but Kiko and Pete don't complain, and it's kinda fun and messy. Perfect for camping. 

“Well what will you and Starsky do when we're gone?” Kiko asks, falling asleep by the fire with his  _ Fantastic Four  _ open in his lap. Pete is already asleep next to Starsky. “You haven't saved the fun stuff to do without us, right?”

“Definitely not,” Hutch says, with a mostly straight face.

“I plan on mostly sleeping in the hammock, and Hutch is going to get a tan,” Starsky says. “I have a novel to read. See?”

Starsky holds up a tattered western, eliciting a face from Kiko that he shrugs off.  “We’re just planning on relaxing. Besides, you two ate all the brownies. What else is there?”

“Yup! They tasted like smoke,” Kiko says, yawning. “Man, I’m sleepy.”

“I bet, we had a busy day,” Hutch says, ruffling Kiko's hair. “Why don't you brush your teeth and get into your tent? You can read until you fall asleep.”

Pete wakes up at this. “I'm not sleepy. I wasn't sleeping.”

“I didn't see any sleeping,” Starsky agrees, to humor her. He crouches down to pick her up, but she gets on her feet to brush her teeth under her own power, refusing to let Kiko show her up at bed preparations.

“Has your tent dried out?” Kiko asks skeptically on his way back past it.

“I guess I better check that out,” Hutch says.

“Me and Kiko could share, and you could have my tent,” Pete offers.

Hutch chuckles. “I think yours might be a bit short for me, Petey. But thanks. I'll manage. Stay out here and play guitar and fall asleep by the fire, maybe.”

Pete shivers. 

“That sounds cold,” she says, but like it's his problem now she's made the offer once. “G’night.”

“Good night,” Hutch says, kissing her forehead and giving Kiko a hug. 

“You should keep playing guitar til we fall asleep,” Kiko says, pressing his face into Hutch's chest while Pete gives Starsky an even bigger hug. “It's nice.”

“What's for breakfast tomorrow?” Pete asks Starsky.

“Pancakes,” Starsky tells her. “I have the mix in the cooler, powdered milk and everything. I’ll just add a little water and some butter and they’ll be ready to go when we all wake up.”

This seems to satisfy her, and she crawls into her tent with another massive yawn, only managing to read for about ten minutes before her flashlight clicks off inside the tent. 

Starsky helps Hutch clean up the cast iron pan they’d made brownies in, and then yawns himself. “Looking forward to a little quiet time.  _ You’re _ not gonna make me go on another nature hike, are you?”

“I won't  _ make _ you, but I'm going,” Hutch says. “Might finally get a decent workout, on my own.”

“I can think of a couple other ways to get a decent workout,” Starsky suggests, bumping his shoulder against Hutch’s.

Hutch winks at him. “Though with my luck this trip, I might get ambushed by a mountain lion or fall into a ravine and break my leg…”

“Or both. You have been really unlucky.” Starsky hangs the pan up on a branch to dry off, and then helps Hutch get his tent back into order, though it’s obviously still a little damp. “You wanna sleep in this clammy thing, or you wanna just split the difference in my tent again?”

Hutch sighs wistfully. “We only have to keep up the pretense another night…”

He pats the bedding, finding it probably survivable, but damp. He supposes he hadn't really laid everything out so that it would actually dry very well, and he wonders if he did it half on purpose. 

“But if you don't think my bad luck will mean a bear tries to break into your tent tonight…” Hutch grins. “I promised to serenade the kids a bit longer, though.”

“Okay but lay off ‘Black Bean Soup’, I know you’re proud of it but I’ve heard it about a hundred times this year,” Starsky tells him, giving Hutch a friendly swat on the butt before he also retreats to spend a little time with his flashlight and western novel while Hutch quietly plays guitar for the kids. 

Later, when Hutch comes in, he finds Starsky asleep with the book on his face, and plenty of room for Hutch to join him under the blankets. So Hutch slides in, leaving the tent flap partially open for fresh air. He wonders if this is as close to domesticity they'll ever get, with “the kids” sleeping just a few feet away, them in the same “bed”—and not for sex, but because they both belong there. 

For what it is, he'll take it.


	6. Chapter 6

Hutch wakes with the sun, getting a fire and coffee going so Starsky can make them breakfast when he's awake, and while the kids are doing their slow wakeup, Hutch packs their tents up so they'll be ready to go.

“Woo, beginning to smell a little ripe, there,” Hutch laughs when he gets a whiff of Kiko. “Make sure you shower before church or your Mama will be mad at me.”

“Hey, you don't smell so good, either; we're _camping_ ,” Pete points out.

“He spent half a day in the lake yesterday,” Starsky shrugs at all of them. “That’s almost as close as it gets out here in the wilderness.”

Shaking up the mixture as the pan heats up on the fire Hutch had stoked up that morning, Starsky gets the pancakes going. He pulls out his best dad jokes as he drinks coffee and flips the flapjacks. “Alright kids, I need you to go find a maple tree and bring us back some syrup.”

Pete is on her feet and looking for a bucket before she realizes he’s joking.

“But where’s the syrup?!” she demands, stamping her feet while the others laugh.

“Easy, right here, kiddo,” Hutch says, producing syrup as promised. He scolds, “Starsky, you should know not to joke about food.”

“Sure,” Starsky agrees. “But I bet they would have come up with some syrup even if I wasn’t joking, right?”

“Yes!” Pete says. Starsky serves her first, since she’s clearly ravenous, and then Kiko, and they both eat two stacks, with the vigor that growing kids have for pancakes.

“Don’t tell the kids, but there’s buckwheat in there.” Starsky flips the next one, glad that pancakes are quick to make.

“I thought you were just burning them,” Kiko laughs. “No wonder they’re so good.”

“Sure, and good for you until you put half a bottle of syrup on. I figure it all balances out.” Starsky hands a plate of them to Hutch, and sets to work on his own, and soon they’re all eating.

It’s another domestic little scene, and Hutch likes it. The kids are sweet, inquisitive, and fun, and even in their tantrums and weirdness he likes them, but—most importantly of all, he’s now realizing—they are also _not theirs_ . He’s going to take them home in an hour—he checks his watch, oops, _half_ an hour—and then he and Starsky will have a day and a half and ideally one very long night all to themselves. Just the two of them.

The wife, kids, white picket fence thing that Hutch thought he wanted out of life lost its appeal more every day, and not just because it wasn’t really compatible with being a cop. He had his plants to engage his nurturing side, and, for that matter, Starsky needed a lot of looking after for a grown man, in Hutch’s considered opinion. The rest of the time, he enjoyed being a big brother to kids like Kiko and Pete, and Lisa, and Toni, and Jackson Junior, and Guy and Vikki, and of course Cal and Rosie.

The only person he was ultimately, wholly, intimately responsible to, was Starsky, and Hutch liked it that way.

“Hey,” Starsky calls him back from drifting wherever it was he was in his thoughts, with just a gentle nudge against his knee. “Eat your pancakes. You’re gonna need the energy to not catch any fish later.”

Sometimes when Hutch drifts, Starsky’s not sure what to make of it, but this time he’d been smiling. Starsky hates to break him out of it, but they have the whole afternoon to daydream, he guesses. Once the kids are home, they can crack open those beers. Not that Starsky hasn’t enjoyed the time with the kids, too. It was like visiting real responsibility but still getting to wave goodbye and have the rest of his life uninterrupted.

“Unless you plan on skipping that and going back for the bees again,” Starsky says, with a bright smile.

“Don’t push your luck,” Hutch says, jabbing Starsky in the chest with a finger while the kids giggle at their bickering. “Okay, you two, eat up, we’ve got to be on the road in fifteen minutes. I want to see bags packed and Sunday School smiles on.”

St. Mary’s seems to have an engaging Sunday School program, or at least they seem glad to be seeing their friends to tell them about their adventures, because neither Kiko nor Pete complain overmuch, except that they decide they want to stick their feet in the lake one last time, and Pete decides to do this with her shoes still on.

Exasperated and a little muddy, fifteen minutes later Hutch has kids, their bags, and two small tents packed in the car.

“Okay, I’ll be back in two hours,” he tells Starsky. “We getting low on anything?”

“Maybe bring some all-beef hot dogs?” Starsky suggests, shifting in his seat. “And another six pack?”

He doesn’t expect much about the hot dogs, but he figures Hutch will bring something for dinner and it might even be fully edible. If not, there’s plenty of beef jerky still. Besides, he’s looking forward to just having some alone time with Hutch, and a chance to relax.

Hutch grins, feeling indulgent. The kids got pancakes, so Starsky’s gonna get his all-beef hot dogs. “Okay, but I’m bringing _wheat_ buns.”

…

Hutch drops them off at Ms. Ramos’ and spends a few minutes practicing his Spanish with her while they run around getting washed up and ready for church before he excuses himself and stops at the store. He gets more beer, the dogs, the buns, a little container of sauerkraut, and stops at the checkout counter, wondering if they remembered to bring lube and condoms.

He throws some in the basket just in case, trying to look smug about it. Also, flowers, to really ‘sell’ it. Starsky probably likes flowers.

“Grilling night for the lady?” the clerk asks.

Hutch feels like a secret agent when he says, “Camping trip, actually.”

...

Starsky’s taken care of the fire, and gotten Hutch’s tent all hung up to air out and finish drying off so that it’ll pack easily when they’re ready to go home, and then made himself comfortable in the hammock, swinging lightly as he works on finishing up the wild west novel he’d been pecking at all weekend. It’s just getting to the exciting part when Hutch gets back, and Starsky grins at him as he pulls up.

“How were the Ramoses?” he asks, placing the book flat on his chest and tucking his hands behind his head, the picture of utter relaxation.

“Excited to be home. I think we wore ‘em out,” Hutch laughs, striding over with the bundle of supermarket flowers which he offers to Starsky. “And my hot date fell through, so you want these?”

“I thought I _was_ your hot date,” Starsky says, accepting the bouquet with obvious pleasure anyway. He doesn’t like to be treated special all the time, but every so often when it’s just them, it’s nice. He takes a deep breath; fresia, carnations, irises, then he rests the bouquet on his chest and reaches for Hutch instead, taking him by the hand and tugging him into the hammock, though they both have to rearrange a little and the flowers get slightly squashed. He kisses Hutch’s cheek, looks deep into his eyes. “I guess that means it’s just you and me out here. Alone. We’ll have to play some chess, huh?”

“Show you my stamp collection,” Hutch chuckles, trying not to crush the flowers or knee Starsky in the groin. He kisses Starsky a few times, casually, before they deepen. “We should get the dogs out of the hot car and into the cooler, though.”

“I mean, we could just let ‘em cook in there,” Starsky says, but he lets Hutch up anyway, and then groans his way out of the hammock and onto his feet, stretching. “I could use a beer. How ‘bout you?”

“I got more, so drink up,” Hutch says, as they go to the car. He grabs the beer and hands Starsky the bag with everything else. “And some _supplies_.”

Starsky accepts the bag, glancing into it, and laughs. “You musta had a fun conversation in the checkout line, huh? Hotdogs and condoms. There’s a combination.”

“Yeah. Told them I was teaching safe sex to at-risk teens,” Hutch chuckles, only because they both _have_ done that before (only it’s with bananas).

Starsky leans over and kisses Hutch’s cheek, slings a hand around his middle, and pulls them hip to hip, grateful. Some days, they infuriate each other, but most of the time, they just know each other too well.

Hutch kisses Starsky hard, enjoying the moment alone with him in the warmth of the sun and the cool of the hills. He gets his arms around him and deepens the kiss further, hungry for his partner in every way.

But they have time, so Hutch leans back, beaming. “So, why don’t you tell me what’s going on in that dime novel of yours while we get some dogs cooking? Or you want to go skinny-dipping and get drunk first? There’s still some daylight left.”

“We can do both,” Starsky says, with a shrug and a toothy smile that says he’s totally up for it. “No one else is camping out here, right?”

He starts pulling his shirt off, turning toward the lake as he goes and finding a safe place to put the bag of supplies for later, tossing his clothes up on the short boat dock so they don’t get sandy before he gets in the water. “So the main character’s wife and kid burned up in a fire and they blamed him for it. He decides to go into the West to escape his troubles and takes only a rifle given to him by Major Ferguson…”

Hutch follows, taking off his clothes, and paying less attention to what Starsky is saying than he is to Starsky in general.

Starsky seems animated, but the plot of the novel is fairly predictable. “...Only he was already awake because there was this _wolf_ trying to steal the bacon, right?”

“What, really?” Hutch laughs. “That’s a _plot_ point? Does he at least find out who killed his wife and kids?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hutch cannonballs into the lake with a huge splash, and comes up spluttering. Now there’s no kids to look out for, and they’re all alone out here, they can be a little reckless, and Hutch grabs Starsky’s face and kisses him again, relishing their slick bodies sliding bare against each other. Drops of water cling to the hair on Starsky’s arms, and draw his curls down around his head. “God, I’m glad to have you all to myself.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Starsky laughs, but he gives Hutch a quick kiss and then flips him into the water next, initiating a round of grappling and splashing. He grunts, “Okay, wiseguy, why don’t you tell me about the last book _you_ read?”

“Ack!” Hutch cries, going down with a splash and coming up coughing. “You know me, I only read the Bible—or that’s what you tell mother if she asks.”

He half-upends Starsky, but Starsky’s ready for him, and floats like a damn bobber, impossible to pull under. “I read that _Lord of the Rings_ book finally. It’s actually pretty good. Bet you’d like it.”

“Ugh, it’s _like_ the Bible,” Starsky laughs. “You can tell me the good parts, sometime. There was too much walking for me. Don’t you read any westerns?”

“Do you actually read?” Hutch retorts. “I’m pretty sure you’ve just been listening to that mouth-breather Lewis talking about stuff he doesn’t—hey!”

Starsky seems to have no trouble yanking Hutch under the water, then they’re too busy wrestling to keep talking, before they finally, eventually relax, more swimming than messing around, Starsky leaning against one of the supports for the boat launch and drinking beer. “Okay. If you were stranded on a remote island and you could only bring one thing, what would you bring?”

“Besides you?” Hutch says. “If I got bored of you talking I could probably eat you.”

He paddles further out into the lake when Starsky flicks him with water. “I don’t know, a flare gun to signal for help?”

Starsky sighs. “Hutch, weren’t you ever socialized as a child? You never went to a party and played ‘what would you do if…?’ games?”

With a wink, Starsky finishes his beer, tosses Hutch a fresh one, and then paddles the water next to him to indicate he should come relax while the water is still warm.

Hutch catches the beer but has to return to Starsky to get the bottle opened, anyway. He opens the beer and takes a deep swig. “Of course I did. We always tried to wish for things that would help us escape. Wish for an airplane or something.”

“If _I_ was on a desert island, I’d bring a radio,” he decides. “I mean I’m sure I could still get Chi-Sox games.”

“I guess I’d take my guitar,” Hutch says, after a bit. He swims closer and rests his head on Starsky’s shoulder. Then he laughs: “But if mother asks, I’m taking the Bible.”

“Yeah, and if mine asks, it’s the Torah,” Starsky takes a long sip of his beer, watching Hutch. “That why you don’t call home very often?”

“Ha. One reason of many,” Hutch says, shaking his head a little. “We have to promise not to harass the kids like this when they’re older. I mean, if they stay off coke and in school, I’ll be happy.”

“I don’t harass them _now_ ,” Starsky leans back against the dock and reaches out under the water to try and find Hutch’s hand without looking. His hand lands on Hutch’s bare thigh instead and he just leaves it there. “So far as I’m concerned there’s nothing wrong with either of those kids. You wanna talk about it?”

“Nah,” Hutch says, smiling. He leans his head back and nibbles on Starsky’s ear, whispering, “Talk of overbearing family members when you’ve got your hand right there is kind of a mood-killer.”

Starsky laughs. “I was looking for your hand but now that I got your attention…”

He eases his fingers up Hutch’s thigh, feeling the swirling water as he tries his best not to tickle while still teasing lightly on the inside of his leg, scooting just a little closer as casually as he can, watching Hutch with a playful sidelong glance as he scoots his hand past any place appropriate. “Water’s getting chilly, huh? Or did I really kill the mood that much?”

“Not cold enough,” Hutch says, no longer shy at all as he turns to kiss Starsky full on the mouth, tugging him in with an arm around his neck still holding his beer. His free hand wanders down the carpet of chest hair down to Starsky’s dick, and gives him a few experimental strokes with the backs of his knuckles, teasing. He kisses down his jaw to his neck to whisper in his ear again: “You think we can risk it up on the dock?”

He asks like a schoolboy worried about being caught with firecrackers, and not something more important and more serious.

“Sure, but it would be cold and uncomfortable and someone would have to go get the condoms eventually,” Starsky points out, his arm looped around Hutch's neck and his hand cupping his cock under the water level, feeling it just start to go hard for him. “But if you're volunteering…”

“C’mon, it's not that cold,” Hutch protests, and actually gets his hands under Starsky’s arms and lifts him onto the dock, a show of strength. He rests his arms on Starsky’s thighs and gazes up at him innocently. “Maybe I'm offering to...suck your wiener?”

“Ugh, okay, that’s it, _you_ killed the mood,” Starsky laughs, pulling Hutch up to kiss him. “I’m gonna go think about your bad behavior in my tent.”

“Come on, Starsk!” Hutch snorts, pulling himself out of the water, leaving their clothes behind on the dock. “I thought you liked puns!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change!

Both of them make it across the beach, naked and giggling a little about it—scandalous—until they’re in Starsky’s tent, kissing and shifting against each other until they find a comfortable tangle of legs. “Hey, Hutch? I love you. Not your bad puns, but…”

“And I love your ability to lie to yourself like this. You  _ love  _ my puns,” Hutch says matter-of-factly, lifting himself up to reach for the lube, just so it’s close, as they continue kissing. Hutch is chilled, though, now, actually and pulls Starsky half on top of him. “I love you, too, babe. And I still wanna suck your dick. But maybe we c-could dry off a bit first.” 

“What happened to ‘it’s not that cold?’” Starsky wonders, but he helps Hutch towel his hair, as much fooling around and getting frisky as toweling any other part of his body. 

“The breeze is cold!” Hutch protests, returning the favor with another warm towel. 

It ends in comfortable groping as they both work on getting each other hard, and the small space of the tent seems to get warmer, quickly. Starsky, with his hand on Hutch’s cock, reveals, “So I packed a couple of things in my bag we could try out.”

Hutch’s cock is already interested by virtue of where Starsky’s hand is, but he raises one eyebrow up at his partner, alternating squeezing the back of his neck and running his hands through his hair. He chuckles a little bemusedly. “Yeah? Handcuffs again?” 

“You’re so unoriginal,” Starsky laughs. “We could do handcuffs again if you wanna, but I got something else in mind. Go check around in there, see what catches your eye.”

“Excuse me for relying on the classics,” Hutch says, and then laughs at himself for saying so, and sits up, a blush spreading from his cheeks to his chest. He’s half-hard, and a little disappointed that Starsky has stopped, drawn a bag over, and told him to look inside. He says, because it’s true, and to recover some of his dignity, “You know I don’t need anything but you to get me there, buddy.” 

“Of course you don’t,” Starsky says. “But it doesn’t hurt to change things up a little, now and again, right?”

But the bag seems to have some goodies in it, though they’re buried underneath Starsky’s clothes and toiletries kit. He erupts into laughter as he unearths an enormous, purple dildo: “Okay,  _ Starsky _ , this thing is too big, why do you even have this?” 

“Just in case you ever felt adventurous,” Starsky waggles his eyebrows at Hutch, winningly. “There’s a smaller one in there, too. And the finest battery powered personal massager money can buy. Just in case you need a few paroxysms.”

There’s a cock-ring too, but Hutch hooks it out around his fingers and gives it a dubious look, so Starsky takes it from him, almost defiantly, and sets to work getting Hutch the rest of the way hard so it can go onto him, stroking his cock and looking him in the eyes. “What kinda challenge do you feel up to? I did say I’d wear you out better than a hike.”

Hutch vaguely knows what this is and what it’s for, though he’s never tried one before. He gasps at the sudden snug grip on his cock and from Starsky’s touches, but lets him have his way with him, getting that exciting little flutter in his belly as he just watches him. 

“I think you could  _ try _ ,” he says, as his grin slides from daring to playful to admiring, soaking up how beautiful his partner is, and how Starsky’s eyes, when they’re focused on him, can just take him apart. “I want you to try.” 

Hutch licks his lips as he watches Starsky’s hands move, and then he squawks, “What are  _ those _ ?” 

He’s half-afraid Starsky will tell him it’s not a sex toy and accuse him of having far too dirty of a mind, but when Hutch pulls it out of the bag, he’s more certain. Five silver beads dot a string with a loop at the end. They’re kind of  _ big  _ beads, or at least the ones closer to the ring end are bigger, but Hutch is pretty confident in his choice. “Either you’re into uglier jewelry than I thought, or…” 

“You wanna give those a try, huh?” Starsky grins at Hutch’s choice, still lazily stroking his trapped cock. “I’ve got plans for those. And you, involving those. You wanna lay back for me?”

Leaning up to kiss Hutch, Starsky helps ease him down onto the air mattress, wrapping them both up in the blankets as he arranges their bodies together, letting Hutch hang onto the beads while Starsky works a condom over his cock, and then his mouth over the condom while his fingers start pressing and looking for entrance. 

“Remember, if you need to stop, you just gotta say, right?” Starsky reminds, working a lot of lube onto his hand so he can start easing Hutch open. 

“Yeah, I—mm,” Hutch says, breath hitching from Starsky’s ministrations. “I want the complete opposite if stop right now, bu-huddy.”

He lies back, one hand curled into Starsky’s hair and one leg trying to find purchase on the unstable wall of the tent. He's not really very good at just lying back and letting things happen. "You just, ah, you tell me when I can suck your cock, huh?”

“I need to focus right now,” Starsky presses a kiss against the inside of Hutch’s thigh. “Let me get you all together, then I’ll be ready for you.”

He takes his time with Hutch, knowing there’s no rush because of the cock ring and because he knows Hutch so well. He can back off when it gets too intense, though Hutch obviously doesn’t want him to. Starsky works him open slowly, just enough to push the first of the graduated beads in, and then work his fingers in behind, pushing and working the ball inside Hutch until the second one is flush against him. Then with his mouth on the head of Hutch’s cock, and a gentle, insistent pressure, that one’s inside Hutch too, just a little bigger than the last. 

“Starsk—Starsk _ y _ !” Hutch shouts, trying to sound stern as he tapers off into a moan. The beads feel oddly amazing, but this cock ring—the sensation like Starsky has always got a hand on him, tight, and the need for release choked off at his balls—is something else. Maybe oddly amazing, too, if he lets himself relax into it. 

He's never been very good at giving up control. 

“Damn it, Starsky, that—hhnhh.” He can't believe how inarticulate he already is, slapping Starsky’s shoulder like he's trying to say “uncle.”

Starsky sits up, fingers keeping pressure to keep things in place, looking up at Hutch until he can communicate what he needs to, though he’s still touching Hutch gently, smiling at how lost he is already, though Starsky knows that he doesn’t give up control all the way easily. “What do you need?” 

“Damn it,” Hutch gasps, blinking up at Starsky, dazed. He considers several answers, takes a few deep breaths, and then settles back. “I just need—I just need you, Starsk. Kiss me.” 

Starsky does, leaning forward, getting his free hand under Hutch’s neck to tilt their mouths together so he can swallow Hutch’s groans and sighs as he pushes the next well-lubricated bead into him, this one definitely large enough to feel. Starsky reaches out to shift Hutch’s hips a little, tilting them up over his lap as he crouches over Hutch and kisses him more, further, drawing back only a little to warn. “One more, are you ready?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Hutch is overwhelmed again. He’s beginning to feel really full, his cock aching with that tight grip around it, and Starsky’s hands seem to be everywhere, but not everywhere  _ enough _ , and suddenly Hutch is reaching for his cock, for the release on the ring. 

“Hang on!” Starsky laughs, batting his hands away. 

“I can’t—I’m not—” Hutch gasps out, a keyed-up, manic sound. He grabs Starsky before he can pull back, grabbing the back of his neck. “You got the cuffs? Cuff me.”

Starsky pauses, looking into Hutch’s eyes for understanding, and then the request comes clear. He puts his palm gently on Hutch’s chest, rubbing his skin, kissing his nose. “You need that?”

“Yeah. Help me focus.”

Hutch’s nod makes it clear that Starsky guessed right, so he digs the handcuffs out of the bag and obliges Hutch’s request, cuffing his hands together over his head, leaving the cuffs loose but not so loose he can slip out of them, giving him something to hang on to. “Better?”

Hutch tries another deep breath. It's almost like, with his hands occupied, he can focus on what Starsky is doing, can let himself enjoy it. Control freak is absolutely right—except when Starsky is in charge. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

He grins, and says, half truth and half to cover up being unsettled, “I-I was just stalling, needed a chance to get used to the stretch.”

“It’s okay to say pause,” Starsky tells him, kissing Hutch deeply as he leans their bodies together, letting Hutch feel his weight as he just hangs onto him for a few minutes. “I mean, sometimes I’m impatient, but not all the time.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Hutch insists, reaching up to touch Starsky’s cheek, to assure him. “ _ I _ was getting impatient. But I know you’ll take care of me.”

Starsky sits up a little then, rubbing his hands over Hutch’s chest, easing some of the tension out of his muscles, and then down his belly, just comforting and soothing him until he feels Hutch’s body relax, sees Hutch puts his hands back above his head, and Starsky knows he’s ready, then he reaches down and works the biggest bead into Hutch, slow and careful so he can really feel the stretch. “You got it, breathe deep. Just a little more, Hutch.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can—oh,” Hutch says, as it just keeps getting bigger, and he breathes a few times through his nose. It’s a lot, but not too much, as long as he stays relaxed, which he is, now, his fingers loosely curling and uncurling, playing with the edge of the blanket. “Oh shit that feels—” 

And then it’s inside him, his body closing around it, sucking it into him, up against all the others, and Hutch’s body jerks as the beads fill him up and press up against his prostate. He can’t breathe for a second, and then gasps, his vision sparking with pleasure. “Starsk, that—oh, God, Starsk.”

Hutch twists his fingers in the blanket, taking short breaths, like his insides are too full, even for his lungs. His cock lays flush against his belly and is turning red. “That feels—that feels good. Full. Jesus, Starsk, I need to come—need you to take this thing off me.” 

“Oh yeah?” Starsky says, leaning down, licking a stripe against his straining cock. “I got one more thing I wanna try.”

If his smile is just a little evil as he roots around in the bag for the last of the toys, a little bullet-shaped vibrator, which he palms, and if he distracts Hutch with a kiss before he turns it on and slides it up the underside of Hutch’s cock to just under the glans then it’s a surprise he’s sure Hutch will like. 

“Mm—Starsk!” Hutch cries as his brain explodes with too much sensation, arching his hips wantonly into Starsky’s hands, into the devilish little vibrator. His body attempts orgasm several times, only he just can’t quite get there, and instead of taking him over the edge he just goes higher and higher. He slings his bound wrists over the back of Starsky’s neck, pulling his hair, and his legs kick weakly. “God! Jesus, Starsk, it—please— _ please _ !”

Starsky waits for a moment when Hutch is subsiding, catching his breath, before he pulls the catch on the cock-ring free, getting his hand around the base of Hutch’s cock instead to steady him, then sliding down to get ahold of the string, tugging on it to pop the beads free as Hutch starts to tip over the edge, knowing there’s no delaying now, but  _ he _ can practically see the stars Hutch must be experiencing, as his begging goes suddenly voiceless and silent. 

The sensations are too much, and his cock almost doesn't know what to do when it's free of the cock ring until Starsky puts his hand on him. 

Hutch realizes about halfway through holding his silence that he isn't in the city, in either of their homes or either of their cars, he's out in the wilderness and doesn't have to hold back, so his cry becomes a roar as forceful as his orgasm. He's as loud as he wants, screaming Starsky’s name and gripping his hair like it's the only thing keeping him on this ride. At the end he smashes their lips together and devours Starsky like a last meal, hungry until the radiant joy of afterglow floods over him and he is sated. 

“Holy shit,” Hutch says. 

Starsky  huffs a laugh out, leaning down over Hutch and watching his eyes refocus. He kisses Hutch again, a little more slowly. “I agree. Are you gonna let go of my hair?”

"I guess,” Hutch says, though it takes a few seconds for his fingers to uncurl from the thick strands. "Have I mentioned recently how much I love your hair? And your…fingers and everything?”

When Hutch does, Starsky rubs his sides, his arms, kisses his neck and chin and nose, waiting for him to catch his breath, enjoying the afterglow almost as much as Hutch seems to. “You look amazing when you let go like that. Maybe don’t yell that loud where the neighbors can hear.”

"You kidding?” Hutch laughs, his hands still looped around Starsky's neck, the cuffs still rattling. "I'm never going back to civilization after an experience like that. Can't we live here?”

“This from a guy who wanted to bring a flare gun to a desert island,” Starsky laments. 

“I said first I wanted to bring  _ you _ , didn't I?” Hutch digs his elbows in and rolls Starsky over. "Now I want to suck your dick, partner, because I have waited long enough.”

“You wanna do that with handcuffs on?” Starsky asks, leaning back, relaxing on the air mattress, which is now stretched out enough to be dipping slightly beneath their weight together, but Starsky relaxes in an attitude of surrender, displaying the key to the handcuffs in his hand above his head. “You can earn the key back.”

Hutch kisses him, holding the back of his neck, and then unhooks his hands so he can slide down Starsky’s body and settle in his lap. He chuckles and works a condom over him, hampered only slightly by the handcuffs. “Maybe I'll just overpower you when you're weak from me sucking your brains out.”

He crouches low, curling his legs up under him, and sucks just the head of his cock to get past the taste of latex. Hutch’s asshole is still sloppy with lube, and the condom he's wearing is still full and starting to cool, and it makes him feel very filthy, very slutty, to be unable to clean himself up while he's so focused on Starsky. It's enough to just get lost in it, so he does, thinking of nothing outside this moment, outside of teasing his partner with little swipes of his tongue, with hollowing of his cheeks, with working him deep into the back of his throat. 

Starsky throws his head back and groans, letting his knees fall wide open so Hutch can do whatever he likes, rolling his hips up when Hutch finds something good, except it’s all good. Hutch knows what he’s doing and Starsky can barely keep up. One thing he doesn’t do, is hold his voice back, moaning just for Hutch and hoping no one else comes around while they’re both distracted. 

This isn’t quite so much slow torment as what he’d inflicted on Hutch, but Starsky doesn’t rush it, and Hutch has always been good at it, working Starsky slowly closer and closer to the edge. 

Hutch isn’t teasing as much as he is enjoying the moment, closing his eyes, humming in delight at how Starsky responds to him. He massages the insides of his thighs, reaches underneath to squeeze the globes of his ass, and swallows him until his hair tickles his nose. It’s almost a surprise, therefore, when Starsky gives a shout, and this is Hutch’s only warning before he’s over the edge, and Starsky is so gentle with him, really, not even pulling his hair, and Hutch thinks he’s just so sweet he can’t stop himself from curling up next to him and kissing him in the afterglow, murmuring, “I love you. I love you.” 

Starsky wraps himself around Hutch, cuddling up together until their bodies are almost seamlessly pressed against each other, and he gently runs his hands through Hutch’s hair, looking him in the eyes. “Yeah? Yeah. I love you back.”

Eventually, the handcuffs come off, and the two of them huddle up under the blankets, though out of practicality, Starsky makes them at least put underwear on (“What if a bear attacks in the middle of the night, huh? You wanna run from a bear, while bare naked?”). Then they settle in a pile together, tent firmly zipped against the outside world, and Starsky sleeping like he hadn’t a single care so long as he was with Hutch. 


End file.
